Calzona on fire
by BigG1999
Summary: After the Calzona Games. Calzona after the games.
1. Chapter 1

I sit on the bench. I am looking at the place where I lived. The fire damage has never been fixed, why would it? I still own it. I shake my head, standing up and going in.

It hasn't changed a bit. Tim's boots and Jacket are still in his small room. Shards from a broken vase lay on the ground. Pictures of my once happy family line the walls.

I pull on my old boots. My new leg feels weird in them, but I ignore it. I grab Tim's old bow, hanging above his bed. I go back out, moving quickly, I want to get to the woods soon.

I get to the Meadow, just a stone's throw from my home. My old home. I haven't lived there in years, but somehow it feels more like home than the house in Victor's Village.

By the time I make it to the fence that surrounds District 12, the sun just waking up. As always, I listen a moment, but there's no telltale hum of electrical current running through the chain link. There hardly ever is, even though the thing is supposed to be charged full-time. I wriggle through the opening at the bottom of the fence, which is harder more than ever, a five pound thing replaces my leg.

* * *

My muscles are clenched tight against the cold. If a pack of wild dogs, or a fire, were to appear at this moment, I would be dead, no doubt in my mind. I should get up, move around, and work the stiffness from my limbs. But instead I sit, as motionless as the rock beneath me, while the dawn begins to lighten the woods. I can't fight the sun. I can only watch helplessly as it drags me into a day that I've been dreading for months.

By noon they will all be at my new house in the Victor's Village. The reporters, the camera crews, even Effie Trinket, my old escort, will have made their way to District 12 from the Capitol. I wonder if Effie will still be wearing that silly pink wig, or if she'll be sporting some other unnatural color especially for the Victory Tour. There will be others waiting, too. A staff to cater to my every need on the long train trip. A prep team to beautify me for public appearances. My stylist and friend, Jackson, who designed the gorgeous outfits that first made the audience take notice of me in the Hunger Games.

If it were up to me, I would try to forget the Hunger Games entirely. Never speak of them. Pretend they were nothing but a bad dream, but the Victory Tour makes that impossible. Strategically placed almost midway between the annual Games, it is the Capitol's way of keeping the horror fresh and immediate. Not only are we in the districts forced to remember the iron grip of the Capitol's power each year, we are forced to celebrate it. And this year, I am one of the stars of the show. I will have to travel from district to district, to stand before the cheering crowds who secretly loathe me, to look down into the faces of the families whose children were killed while I lived...

The sun persists in rising, so I make myself stand. All my joints complain and my left leg, well stump really, has been asleep for so long that it takes several minutes of pacing to bring the feeling back into it. I've been in the woods three hours, but as I've made no real attempt at hunting, I have nothing to show for it. I don't need to anyways, I have plenty of money to last for the rest of my life.

I shake my head and make my way back into town.

My next stop is the Hob, where I've traditionally done the bulk of my trading. Years ago it was a warehouse to store coal, but when it fell into disuse, it became a meeting place for illegal trades and then blossomed into a full-time black market. If it attracts a somewhat criminal element, then I belong here, I guess. Hunting in the woods surrounding District 12 violates at least a dozen laws and is punishable by death.

Although they never mention it, I owe the people who frequent the Hob. The extra dollar thrown in for that turkey. The extra bit of soup in my bowl. A large my 'mistake' instead of the small. These people kept me alive when I didn't want to be.

The feel the heavy pocket of coins against my hip makes me feel guilty. I try to hit as many stalls as possible, spreading out my purchases of coffee, buns, eggs, yarn, and oil.

When I reach Webber's stall, I boost myself up to sit on the counter and order some soup, which looks to be some kind of gourd and bean mixture. Webber himself sits next to me, eating a bowl while I'm eating.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a train?" he asks me, a twinkle of age in his eyes.

"They're collecting me at noon," I answer.

"Shouldn't you look better?" he asks in a loud whisper, smiling showing teeth against his dark complexion.

I can't help smiling at his teasing, in spite of my mood.

"Maybe a ribbon in your hair or something?" He flicks one of my braids with his hand and I brush him away.

"Don't worry. By the time they get through with me I'll be unrecognizable," I say.

"Good," he says, "Let's show a little district pride for a change, Miss Robbins. Hm?"

"Anything for you boss" I smile, fake, but a smile.

He was my main buyer. He has money, not sure how. I heard he is a killer, that he's a doctor, and that he's friends with Mark. I don't really care, he is the reason I'm here.

A light snow starts to fall as I make my way to the Victor's Village. It's about a half-mile walk from the square in the center of town, but it seems like another world entirely, and with my leg it's even longer.

It's a separate community built around a beautiful green, dotted with flowering bushes. There are twelve houses, each large enough to hold ten of the one I was raised in. Nine stand empty, as they always have. The three in use belong to Callie, Mark, and me. Callie's house gives off a warm glow, she'd tried to talk to me a few times, but I'm not ready for it. I can't handle her lies. I can hear Aria laughing and through the window I can see Callie and her running around.

I take a deep breath and continue walking.


	2. Chapter 2

My heart stops when he walks in.

I'm staring into the snakelike eyes of President Snow.

He leads me into the other room, I follow him because of the capital man on my back.

In my mind, President Snow should be viewed in front of marble pillars hung with over sized flags. It's jarring to see him surrounded by the ordinary objects in the room. Like taking the lid off a pot and finding a fanged viper instead of stew.

What could he be doing here? My mind rushes back to the opening days of other Victory Tours. I remember seeing the winning tributes with their mentors and stylists. Even some high government officials have made appearances occasionally. But I have never seen President Snow. He attends celebrations in the Capitol. Period.

If he's made the journey all the way from his city, it can only mean one thing. I'm in serious trouble. And if I am, so is my family. A shiver goes through me when I think of the proximity of my mother and sister to this man who despises me. Will always despise me. Because I outsmarted his sadistic Hunger Games, made the Capitol look foolish, and consequently undermined his control.

All I was doing was trying to keep Arizona and myself alive. Any act of rebellion was purely coincidental. But when the Capitol decrees that only one tribute can live and you have the audacity to challenge it, I guess that's a rebellion in itself. My only defense is my real love for Arizona.

Perhaps it is the newness of the house or the shock of seeing him or the mutual understanding that he could have me killed in a second that makes me feel like the intruder. As if this is his home and I'm the uninvited party. So I don't welcome him or offer him a chair. I don't say anything. In fact, I treat him as if he's a real snake, the venomous kind. I stand motionless, my eyes locked on him, considering plans of retreat.

"I think we'll make this whole situation a lot simpler by agreeing not to lie to each other," he says. "What do you think?"

I think my tongue has frozen and speech will be impossible, so I surprise myself by answering back in a steady voice, "Yes, I think that would save time."

"My advisers were concerned you would be difficult, but you're not planning on being difficult, are you?" he asks.

"No," I answer.

"That's what I told them. I said any girl who goes to such lengths to preserve her life isn't going to be interested in throwing it away with both hands. And then there's her family to think of. Her mother, her sister, and her lover" I can tell by the way he draws out lover that he knows that we are't speaking, and that he thinks I don't love her.

"I have a problem, Miss Torres," says President Snow. "A problem that began the moment you got those matches in the arena."

That was the moment when I guessed that if the Gamemakers had to choose between watching Arizona and me commit suicide, which would mean having no victor, and letting us both live, they would take the latter.

"If the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, had had any brains, he'd have blown you to dust right then. But he had an unfortunate sentimental streak. So here you are. Can you guess where he is?" he asks.

I take a deep breath and nod. I remember the 'accidental' fire, them finding his body. He got caught in the fire.

"After that, there was nothing to do but let you play out your little scenario. And you were pretty good, too, with the love-crazed schoolgirl bit. The people in the Capitol were quite convinced. Unfortunately, not everyone in the districts fell for your act," he says.

My face must register at least a flicker of bewilderment, because he addresses it.

"This, of course, you don't know. You have no access to information about the mood in other districts. In several of them, however, people viewed your little trick with the matches as an act of defiance, not an act of love. And if a girl from District Twelve of all places can defy the Capitol and walk away unharmed, what is to stop them from doing the same?" he says. "What is to prevent, say, an uprising?"

"There have been uprisings?" I ask, a bit confused.

"Not yet. But they'll follow if the course of things doesn't change. And uprisings have been known to lead to revolution. Do you have any idea what that would mean? How many people would die? What conditions those left would have to face? Whatever problems anyone may have with the Capitol, believe me when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a short time, the entire system would collapse."

I don't know how I dare to say the next words, but I do. "It must be very fragile, if a bit of fires can bring it down."

There's a long pause while he examines me.

Then he simply says, "It is fragile, but not in the way that you suppose."

I sense he has had his say and is waiting for me to respond.

"I didn't mean to start any uprisings," I tell him.

"I believe you. It doesn't matter. Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice. District twelve, the district that will not be over looked, you two have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow to an inferno that destroys Panem," he says.

"Why don't you just kill us now? In fact have you even talked to Arizona" I blurt out.

He shoots me a glare, sending a shiver up my spine.

"She wasn't acting. You were" He says simply.

"Just tell me what you want me to do. I'll do it," I say, I mean it.

"If only it was that simple" He says.

"At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, not looking in at my eyes.

"I'm not indifferent," I say through gritted teeth.

"Come on dear, we said no lies. You don't love her anymore than you love Mark" He says with a chuckle, fake chuckle.

"I do love her" I challenge.

"Convince me" he says, "You have this tour to do it."

With that he's gone. Gone from my house and gone from my life.


	3. Chapter 3

"Is everything all right, Callie?" My mother asks.

"It's fine. We never see it on television, but the president always visits the victors before the tour to wish them luck," I say brightly.

My mother's face floods with relief, "Oh. I thought there was some kind of trouble."

"No, not at all," I say. "The trouble will start when my prep team sees how I've let my eyebrows grow back in."

My mother laughs, at my response. She's happy that I'm not with Arizona like I should be. She doesn't even question why she never saw him when I won a few years ago and I don't bring it up.

"Why don't I start your bath?" she asks.

"Great," I say, and I can see how pleased she is by my response.

After coming home this time things have changed. Letting her handle all the money I won. Returning her hugs instead of tolerating them. My time in the arena made me realize how I needed to stop punishing her for something she couldn't help. I blamed her for being in the arena the first time. Now I don't.

I go upstairs to the bathroom, where a steaming tub awaits. My mother has added a small bag of dried flowers that perfumes the air. I am still not used to the luxury of turning on a tap and having a limitless supply of hot water at my fingertips. We had only cold at our home in the Seam, how many years ago was that? A bath meant boiling the rest over the fire. I undress and lower myself into the silky water, my mother has poured in some kind of oil as well, and try to get a grip on things.

The first question is who to tell, if anyone. Not my mother or Aria, obviously; they'd only become sick with worry. I can't tell Arizona, because she'll think I'm faking it even more. How would I even start that? Hey, remember how people think I'm not in love with you when I really am? Now I got to convince them or we'll all end up dead. There's Yang. She already knows too much, and people wouldn't think twice about an accident that killed a stylist. That leaves one person. My best friend. Mark. As my mentor in the Games it was his duty to keep me alive. I only hope he's still up for the job.

I slide down into the water, letting it block out the sounds around me. I wish the tub would expand so I could go swimming, like I used to on hot summer Sundays in the woods with Arizona. Those days were a special treat. We would leave early in the morning and hike farther into the woods than usual to a small lake Tim had found while hunting. I don't even remember learning to swim, I just remember diving, turning somersaults, and paddling around. The muddy bottom of the lake beneath my toes. The smell of blossoms and greenery. Floating on my back, as I am now, staring at the blue sky while the chatter of the woods was muted by the water. When we got back my mother would pretend not to know me, because I was so clean. My dad would joke about it.

I sigh close my eyes. My dad. He was my parent. He gave me a kiss and the fire pendent before I left for the games years ago. The same explosion in the mine that killed Arizona's dad killed mine. I wasn't home, I was fighting for my life. If I would have known back then, I don't know if I would have made it home to be honest. My dad was one of the three people drawing me back.

Even underwater I can hear the sounds of commotion. Honking car horns, shouts of greeting, doors banging shut. It can only mean my entourage has arrived. I just have time to towel off and slip into a robe before my prep team bursts into the bathroom. There's no question of privacy. When it comes to my body, we have no secrets, these three people and me.

"Callie, your eyebrows!" Meredith shrieks right off, and even with the black cloud hanging over me, I have to stifle a laugh.

Izzie comes up and pats Meredith's back soothingly

"There, there. You can fix those in no time. But what am I going to do with these nails?" She grabs my hand and pins it flat between her two lighter colored ones, "Really, Callie, you could have left me something to work with!" she wails.

It's true. I've bitten my nails to stubs in the past couple of months. I thought about trying to break the habit but couldn't think of a good reason I should.

"Sorry," I mutter.

I hadn't really been spending much time worrying about how it might affect my prep team. Addison lifts a few strands of my wet, tangled hair. She gives her head a disapproving shake.

"Has anyone touched this since you last saw us?" she asks sternly, "Remember, we specifically asked you to leave your hair alone."

"Yes!" I say, grateful that I can show I haven't totally taken them for granted. "I mean, no, no one's cut it. I did remember that."

No, I didn't. It's more like the issue never came up. Since I've been home I haven't so much as touched my hair.

This seems to mollify them, and they all kiss me, set me on a chair in my bedroom, and, as usual, start talking nonstop without bothering to notice if I'm listening. While Meredith reinvents my eyebrows and Izzie gives me fake nails and Addison massages goo into my hair, I hear all about the Capitol. What a hit the Games were, how dull things have been since, how no one can wait until Arizona and I visit again at the end of the Victory Tour. After that, it won't be long before the Capitol begins gearing up for the Quarter Quell.

"Isn't it thrilling?"

"Don't you feel so lucky?"

"In your very first year of being a victor for the second time, you get to be a mentor in a Quarter Quell!"

Their words overlap in a blur of excitement.

"Oh, yes," I say neutrally.

It's the best I can do. In a normal year, being a mentor to the tributes is the stuff of nightmares. I can't walk by the school now without wondering what kid I'll have to coach. But to make things even worse, this is the year of the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games, and that means it's also a Quarter Quell. They occur every twenty-five years, marking the anniversary of the districts' defeat with over-the-top celebrations and, for extra fun, some miserable twist for the tributes. I've never been alive for one, of course. But in school I remember hearing that for the second Quarter Quell, the Capitol demanded that twice the number of tributes be provided for the arena. The teachers didn't go into much more detail.

After they've exhausted the topic of the Quarter Quell, my prep team, launches into a whole lot of stuff about their incomprehensibly silly lives. Who said what about someone I've never heard of and what sort of shoes they just bought and a long story from Meredith about what a mistake it was to have everyone wear feathers to her birthday party.

Soon my brows are stinging, my hair's smooth and silky, and my nails are ready to be painted. Apparently they've been given instruction to prepare only my hands and face, probably because everything else will be covered in the cold weather. Addison badly wants to use her own trademark purple lipstick on me but resigns herself to a red as they begin to color my face and nails. I can see by the palette Yang has assigned that we're going for sexy.

When my hair is done, I find Yang downstairs in the living room, and just the sight of her makes me feel more hopeful. She looks the same as always, simple but badass at the same time.

I look at the music lyric scattered around the room. Your talent is the activity you take up since you don't have to work either in school or your district's industry. My talent is singing.

"Get dressed, you worthless thing," she says, tossing a bundle of clothes at me.

I may have no interest in clothes but I do love the ones Yang makes for me, like these. Flowing black pants made of a thick, warm material. A comfortable white shirt. A sweater woven from green and blue and gray strands of kitten-soft wool. Laced leather boots that don't pinch my toes.

Just then, Effie Trinket arrives in a pumpkin orange wig to remind everyone, "We're on a schedule!"

She kisses me on both cheeks while waving in the camera crew, then orders me into position. Effie's the only reason we got anywhere on time in the Capitol, so I try to accommodate her.

"I call this one Angel, it's been near and dear to my heart since my dad died" I say to the camera, wiping away a tear before I start singing.

"Have you ever met an angel Whose smile is like the sun Whose laugh is like a melody That reaches everyone?

Have you ever hugged an angel Swept up in their embrace And swear there's nothing in this world That makes you feel that safe?

Have you ever really loved an angel Once you have you'll never be the same again Have you ever had to let go of an angel Say goodbye, let 'em fly, my angel, my best friend...

Have you felt the strength of an angel When you needed it the most Lifted by those gentle wings You know you're not alone Every now and then I feel the peace inside Wherever life may take me, I'm guided by that light...

Have you ever really loved an angel Once you have you'll never be the same again Have you ever had to let go of an angel Say goodbye, let 'em fly, my angel, my best friend...

Cause I have really loved an angel How could I ever be the same Cause I have had to let go of my angel Say goodbye, let 'em fly, my angel, my best friend..." I sing my heart out, a few tears falling here and there, but I never stop.

When I'm done Effie hugs me and then throws me out of the room so they can film my work area. Aria got out early from school for the event. Now she stands in the kitchen, being interviewed by another crew. She looks lovely in a the dark brown frock that brings out her eyes, her black hair pulled back in a matching ribbon. She's leaning a bit forward on the toes of her shiny white boots like she's about to take flight, like...

Bam! It's like someone actually hits me in the chest. No one has, of course, but the pain is so real I take a step back. I squeeze my eyes shut and I don't see Aria, I see Sofia, the twelve-year-old girl from District eleven who was my ally in the arena. She could fly, birdlike, from tree to tree, catching on to the slenderest branches. Sofia, who I didn't save. Who I let die. I picture her lying on the ground, her head in Arizona's lap...

Who else will I fail to save from the Capitol's vengeance? Who else will be dead if I don't satisfy President Snow?

I realize Yang's trying to put a coat on me, so I raise my arms. I feel fur, inside and out, encasing me. It's from no animal I've ever seen. "Ermine," she tells me as I stroke the white sleeve.

Leather gloves. A bright red scarf. Something furry covers my ears.

"You're bringing earmuffs back in style," She whispers.

My mother hurries up with something cupped in her hand. "For good luck," she says.

It's my fire pendent. I guess it'll always be 'for good luck' but it seems to only bring the bad with it.

Effie Trinket's nearby, clapping her hands. "Attention, everyone! We're about to do the first outdoor shot, where the victors greet each other at the beginning of their marvelous trip. All right, Callie, big smile, you're very excited, right?"

I don't exaggerate when I say she shoves me out the door. For a moment I can't quite see right because of the snow, which is now coming down in earnest. Then I make out Arizona coming through her front door. In my head I hear President Snow's directive, "Convince me." And I know I must.

* * *

The song is **Angel** by _Beverley Mitchell _


	4. Chapter 4

"The camera's are watching" Jackson whispers before pushing to towards the door.

I take a deep breath and walk out it. For a moment I can't quite see right because of the snow, which is now coming down in earnest. Then I make out Callie being pushed through her front door.

She's breath-taking. Stunning. Beautiful. Sexy. I walk slowly over to her, and she does the same.

Out of nowhere she starts running, as if she can't wait to get to me. She runs right into my arms, causing me to slip, I still am not 100% with my leg. We fall into the snow, her on top of me. She leans down and catches my lips in hers, for the first time in months. I can feel true feelings beneath the kiss, but what if they are fake? I can feel her lipstick coating my lips, they didn't put any on me. I can't help but to feel safe in her arms, this is my Calliope.

I reach up and stroke the side of her face, oh how soft it is. She pulls away and smiles, but I can't tell if it's real or fake. She stands up and pulls me up with her, wrapping an arm around my waist to steady me. She happily pulls me on our way.

* * *

**Switch POV**

The rest of the day is a blur of getting to the station, bidding everyone good-bye, the train pulling out, the old team, Arizona and me, Effie and Mark, Jackson and Yang, dining on an indescribably delicious meal I don't remember. And then I'm swathed in pajamas and a voluminous robe, sitting in my plush compartment, waiting for the others to go to sleep. I know Mark will be up for hours. He doesn't like to sleep when it's dark out.

When the train seems quiet, I put on my slippers and pad down to his door. I have to knock several times before he answers, scowling, as if he's certain I've brought bad news.

"What do you want?" he says, nearly knocking me out with a cloud of wine fumes.

"I have to talk to you," I whisper.

"Now?" he says.

I nod.

"This better be good." He waits, but I feel certain every word we utter on a Capitol train is being recorded, "Well?" he barks.

The train starts to break and for a second I think President Snow is watching me and doesn't approve of my confiding in Mark and has decided to go ahead and kill me now. But we're just stopping for fuel.

"The train's so stuffy," I say.

It's a harmless phrase, but I see Mark's eyes narrow in understanding.

"I know what you need." He pushes past me and lurches down the hall to a door.

When he wrestles it open, a blast of snow hits us. He trips out onto the ground.

A Capitol attendant rushes to help, but Mark waves her away good-naturally as he staggers off.

"Just want some fresh air. Only be a minute."

"Sorry. He's drunk," I say apologetically, "I'll get him."

I hop down and stumble along the track behind him, soaking my slippers with snow, as he leads me beyond the end of the train so we will not be overheard. Then he turns on me.

"What?"

I tell him everything. About the president's visit, about how I really love her, about how we're all going to die if I fail.

His face sobers, grows older in the glow of the red tail-lights.

"Then you can't fail."

"How do I act in love? Arizona won't even talk to me" I sigh.

"You are the two in love. She knows that much. She knows that lives are at stake. You have to act it out for the rest of your lives" He states carefully.

"I don't want to act" I whisper.

"You don't need to. Just remember that she'll be acting" He says.

I nod once. I understand.

We slog back to the train in silence.

In the hallway outside my door, Mark gives my shoulder a pat and says, "You could do a lot worse, you know." He heads off to his compartment, taking the smell of wine with him.

In my room, I remove my sodden slippers, my wet robe and pajamas. There are more in the drawers but I just crawl between the covers of my bed in my underclothes. I stare into the darkness, thinking about my conversation with Mark. Everything he said was true about the Capitol's expectations, my future with Arizona, even his last comment.

Of course, I could do a lot worse than Arizona. That isn't really the point, though, is it? One of the few freedoms we have in District 12 is the right to marry who we want or not marry at all. And now even that has been taken away from me.

I wonder if President Snow will insist we have children. If we do, they'll have to face the reaping each year. And wouldn't it be something to see the child of not one but two victors chosen for the arena? Victors' children have been in the ring before. It always causes a lot of excitement and generates talk about how the odds are not in that family's favor, but it happens too frequently to just be about odds. Given all the trouble I've caused, I've probably guaranteed any child of mine a spot in the Games.

I think of Mark, unmarried, no family, blotting out the world with drink. He could have had his choice of any woman in the district. And he chose solitude. Not solitude, that sounds too peaceful. More like solitary confinement. Was it because, having been in the arena, he knew it was better than risking the alternative? No, I know the real reason. He has a love. Forbidden love. Lexie, an Avox. I wonder what he would do if she wasn't there when we go back.

I can't live like that. Everything could change if I let one thing slip? I'd rather kill myself. I could run away. Go into the woods and never come back. I could get Arizona and Aria to come with me. Would we make it? Arizona is a hunter. Aria is very close to being a doctor. We could make it. Couldn't we?

I shake my head to clear it. This is not the time to be making wild escape plans. I must focus on the Victory Tour. Too many people's fates depend on my giving a good show.

Dawn comes before sleep does, and there's Effie rapping on my door. I pull on whatever clothes are at the top of the drawer and drag myself down to the dining car. I don't see what difference it makes when I get up, since this is a travel day, but then it turns out that yesterday's makeover was just to get me to the train station. Today I'll get the works from my prep team.

I grumble over my food, I don't feel up to going to district eleven. This is Sofia's home. This is where I'll meet her family. I shake my head and glance over at Arizona. She seems as far away as I am.

"I love you" I whisper, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She meets my eye, her's are cold. Almost as if she's dead inside, almost. I can still make out one emotion.

Pain.

"We aren't on camera Calliope" She says, her voice indifferent.

She gets up and leaves, going to get ready for the day.

I finish eating and go back to my room. My prep team goes over everything three times, making sure I'm perfect. I'm so glad I've gained back my curves, I had missed them so much. I guess my team didn't.

"Callie you've really let yourself go" Izzie says, washing my stomach.

"Callie did you really put those pounds back on" Meredith asks with a 'tisk'.

By the time I reach lunch, where Arizona, Effie, Jackson, Mark, and Yang have started without me, I'm too weighed down to talk. I feel fat thanks to my team. It's not really their fault, they don't know any better. They puke everything back up before they shove down more. I just eat. I don't feel the need to be skinny, in fact it scares me when I can see my bones. I think they're easier to break if you can see them.

I'm so unhappy. I play around with a bowl of broth, eating only a spoonful or two. I can't even look at Arizona, not after what she said. Not in front of everybody.

* * *

**Switch POV**

At some point, the train stops. Our server reports it will not just be for a fuel stop, some part has malfunctioned and must be replaced. It will require at least an hour. This sends Effie into a state. She pulls out her schedule and begins to work out how the delay will impact every event for the rest of our lives. Finally I just can't stand to listen to her anymore.

"No one cares, Effie!" I snap.

Everyone at the table stares at me, even Callie, who hadn't even looked at me. I'm immediately put on the defensive.

"Well, no one does!" I say, and get up and leave the dining car.

The train suddenly seems stifling and I'm definitely queasy now. I find the exit door, force it open, triggering some sort of alarm, which I ignore and jump to the ground, expecting to land in snow. But the air's warm and balmy against my skin. The trees still wear green leaves.

How far south have we come in a day? I walk along the track, squinting against the bright sunlight, already regretting my words to Effie. She's hardly to blame for my current predicament. I should go back and apologize. My outburst was the height of bad manners, and manners matter deeply to her. But my feet continue on along the track, past the end of the train, leaving it behind.

An hour's delay. I can walk at least twenty minutes in one direction and make it back with plenty of time to spare. Instead, after a couple hundred yards, I sink to the ground and sit there, looking into the distance. If I had a bow and arrows, would I just keep going?

After a while I hear footsteps behind me. It'll be Mark, coming to chew me out. It's not like I don't deserve it, but I still don't want to hear it.

"I'm not in the mood for a lecture," I warn the clump of weeds by my shoes.

"I love you" She whispers, sitting next to me.


	5. Chapter 5

"Callie I'm not in the mood for this" I snap, trying to turn to face her, but my fake leg doesn't allow me to, I almost end up falling on my face.

"Woh" She whispers, placing a hand on each of my shoulders, holding me up.

I sigh, I'm going to have to talk to her.

"You have ten minutes" I whispers, looking up into her dark eyes.

"I'm so sorry about how I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I just. I came back for you. You are the only reason I'm here today. I love you, no matter what they think. No matter at how bad I am at showing it, I love you with everything I have and I want you back. We are stuck together anyways, so how about you be the one I love. Let me back in and I'll never hurt you again. Please" She says, her voice cracking at the end.

The look in her eyes is killing me. The sadness. The pain. Pain that I caused.

"Come on" I whisper, grabbing her hand.

"Where are we going" She asks, gently helping me up.

"To the train car with my paintings" I say.

We walk back to the train hand in hand. At the door, I remember. "

I've got to apologize to Effie first."

"Don't be afraid to lay it on thick," Callie smirks.

So when we go back to the dining car, where the others are still at lunch, I give Effie an apology that I think is overkill but in her mind probably just manages to compensate for my breach of etiquette. To her credit, Effie accepts graciously. She says it's clear I'm under a lot of pressure. And her comments about the necessity of someone attending to the schedule only last about five minutes. Really, I've gotten off easily.

* * *

When Effie finishes, Arizona leads me down a few cars to see her paintings. I don't know what I expected, but I didn't expect this. She has painted the Games.

Some you wouldn't get right away, if you hadn't been with her in the arena yourself. Water dripping through the cracks in our cave. The muddy stream. A pair of hands, her own, digging for roots.

Others any viewer would recognize. The golden horn called the Cornucopia. One of the mutts, unmistakably the blond, green-eyed one meant to be Glimmer, snarling as it makes its way toward us. And me.

I am everywhere. High up in a tree. Beating a shirt against the stones in the stream. Lying unconscious in a pool of blood. My whole body feeding flames.

"So what do you think" She asks, looking at me with her bright blue eyes.

"Honestly" I ask.

She nods, biting her bottom lip.

"I hate them. They look so real. I want to tear them up, the burn them all and never lay eyes on them ever again" I say, looking her in the eye.

"Me too" She whispers, running a hand over one of Cato, a close up of his face.

"How do you do this" I ask, looking at the detail.

"I see it every night" She says, looking to the ground.

I know what she means. Nightmares. I've had them since the first time I was in the games. They are all the time now. Shane. Cato. Leah. Glimmer. Arizona. Them dying haunts me every night. Some times it's them killing me. A few times I've woken up screaming out Arizona's name. A few screaming Sofia's.

"Me too" I whisper, looking to the floor.

"You do" She asks, looking up.

"I do" I whisper, meeting her gaze.

**Click.**

_The does it._

Her lips are on mine like that. My hands pulling her closer. Feeling everything. Kissing like there is no tomorrow. I can feel my smile, it's growing so much.

"I love you too" She whispers, opening her eyes and looking up.

"Come on, we're almost to District Eleven. Let's go take a look at it." I smile, grabbing her hand.

* * *

We go down to the last car on the train. There are chairs and couches to sit on, but what's wonderful is that the back windows retract into the ceiling so you're riding outside, in the fresh air, and you can see a wide sweep of the landscape. Huge open fields with herds of dairy cattle grazing in them. So unlike our own heavily wooded home.

We slow slightly and I think we might be coming in for another stop, when a fence rises up before us. Towering at least thirty-five feet in the air and topped with wicked coils of barbed wire, it makes ours back in District 12 look childish. My eyes quickly inspect the base, which is lined with enormous metal plates. There would be no burrowing under those, no escaping to hunt. Then I see the watchtowers, placed evenly apart, manned with armed guards, so out of place among the fields of wildflowers around them.

"That's different" Callie whispers.

Sofia did give me the impression that the rules in District 11 were more harshly enforced. But I never imagined something like this.

Now the crops begin, stretched out as far as the eye can see. Men, women, and children wearing straw hats to keep off the sun straighten up, turn our way, take a moment to stretch their backs as they watch our train go by. I can see orchards in the distance, and I wonder if that's where Sofia would have worked, collecting the fruit from the slimmest branches at the tops of the trees.

Small communities of shacks, by comparison the houses in the Seam are upscale spring up here and there, but they're all deserted. Every hand must be needed for the harvest.

On and on it goes. I can't believe the size of District 11.

"How many people do you think live here?" Calliope asks.

I shake my head. In school they refer to it as a large district, that's all. No actual figures on the population. But those kids we see on camera waiting for the reaping each year, they can't be but a sampling of the ones who actually live here. What do they do? Have preliminary drawings? Pick the winners ahead of time and make sure they're in the crowd? How exactly did Sofia end up on that stage with nothing but the wind offering to take her place?

I begin to weary of the vastness, the endlessness of this place. When Effie comes to tell us to dress, I don't object.

I go to my compartment and let the prep team do my hair and makeup. Jackson puts me in a blue shirt and pants. I am so happy about that. I am over letting people see my leg. So over it.

Effie gets Callie and me together and goes through the day's program one last time. In some districts the victors ride through the city while the residents cheer. But in eleven, maybe because there's not much of a city to begin with, things being so spread out, or maybe because they don't want to waste so many people while the harvest is on, the public appearance is confined to the square.

It takes place before their Justice Building, a huge marble structure. Once, it must have been a thing of beauty, but time has taken its toll. Even on television you can see ivy overtaking the crumbling facade, the sag of the roof. The square itself is ringed with run-down storefronts, most of which are abandoned. Wherever the well-to-do live in District eleven, it's not here.

Our entire public performance will be staged outside on what Effie refers to as the verandah, the tiled expanse between the front doors and the stairs that's shaded by a roof supported by columns. Callie and I will be introduced, the mayor of eleven will read a speech in our honor, and we'll respond with a scripted thank-you provided by the Capitol.

If a victor had any special allies among the dead tributes, it is considered good form to add a few personal comments as well. I should say something about Sofia, and Shane, too, really, but every time I tried to write it at home, I ended up with a blank paper staring me in the face: It's hard for me to talk about them without getting emotional.

Fortunately, Callie has a little something worked up, and with some slight alterations, it can count for both of us. At the end of the ceremony, we'll be presented with some sort of plaque, and then we can withdraw to the Justice Building, where a special dinner will be served.

As the train is pulling into the District eleven station, Jackson puts the finishing touches on my outfit, switching my blue hairband for one of metallic gold and securing the fire pin I wore in the arena to my shirt. There's no welcoming, committee on the platform, just a squad of eight Peacekeepers who direct us into the back of an armored truck.

Effie sniffs as the door clanks closed behind us, "Really, you'd think we were all criminals," she says.

Not all of us, Effie. Just me, I think.

The truck lets us out at the back of the Justice Building. We're hurried inside. I can smell an excellent meal being prepared, but it doesn't block out the odors of mildew and rot. They've left us no time to look around. As. we make a beeline for the front entrance, I can hear the anthem beginning outside in the square. Someone clips a microphone on me. Callie takes my left hand. The mayor's introducing us as the massive doors open with a groan.

"Big smiles!" Effie says, and gives us a nudge. Our feet start moving forward.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys... Sorry about the wait... I'm not going to bore you with the sad and depressing story, but I'll just say my depression is getting worse, and writing isn't really helping anymore. **

**I also have two other stories going on right now, so I am trying really hard to update them all. **

**I might leave FanFic for a while, but I'll be back... I hope I will. **

**Anyways I just thought you should know in case I don't update for a long time...**

**Thank you for the support...**

* * *

There's loud applause, but none of the other responses we got in the Capitol, the cheers and whoops and whistles. We walk across the shaded verandah until the roof runs out and we're standing at the top of a big flight of marble stairs in the glaring sun. As my eyes adjust, I see the buildings on the square have been hung with banners that help cover up their neglected state. It's packed with people, but again, just a fraction of the number who live here.

As usual, a special platform has been constructed at the bottom of the stage for the families of the dead tributes. On Shane's side, there's only an old woman with a hunched back and a tall, muscular girl I'm guessing is his sister. On Sofia's...

I'm not prepared for Sofia's family. Her parents, whose faces are still fresh with sorrow. Her five younger siblings, who resemble her so closely. The slight builds, the luminous brown eyes. They form a flock of small dark birds.

Arizona is the one to talk even though I'm the one who wrote everything. She doesn't take the card, she speaks right from the heart. She thanks Sofia's family for raising her to be such a kind little girl, and tells them how sorry she is for their loss. She says she owes Shane her life, and if the circumstances had been different they would have been friends. A tear falls when she is done talking.

I gently wipe it away and kiss her forehead. I can hear the people in the Capital awing at us, but there is nothing here. They don't say anything at all.

The mayor steps forward and presents us each with a plaque that's so large I have to put down my bouquet to hold it. The ceremony's about to end when I notice one of Sofia's sisters staring at me. She must be about nine and is almost an exact replica of Sofia, down to the way she stands with her arms slightly extended.

What did I do? Why is she looking at me? Arizona's the one who talked...

I haven't said anything. Sofia lead me to Arizona. I was the reason Sofia wasn't hiding with Arizona.

A wave of shame rushes through me. The girl is right. How can I stand here, passive and mute, leaving all the words to Arizona? If she had won, Sofia would never have let my death go unsung. I remember how I sung to her, how we took care in the arena to cover her with flowers, to make sure her loss did not go unnoticed but that gesture will mean nothing if I don't support it now.

"Wait!" I stumble forward, pressing the plaque to my chest.

I know I'm not allowed to talk, as our allotted time has pasted, but I have to. My hands start sweating as soon as I am up there, I hate crowds, but I can usually block them out. Not here. Here I have to talk to them.

"I want to thank the tributes of district eleven" I whisper, then look over to the two women on Shane's side, "I didn't get to know Shane, but I know what kind of person he was. He put the needs of others above his own. He saved Arizona's life. He could have let her go, then me and him would have been the final two, but he didn't. He didn't even think about it. He cared, and that's what saved us. Thank you" I nod to the older women.

The corners of the women's mouth tug into a small smile, her dark eyes show something, pride I think. I then turn to Sofia's large family.

"I think I knew Sofia though. I only talked to her for one day, but she was amazing. Her heart was so big and I don't know how she did it. She will always be here with me. I see her everywhere. I see her when I walk down the street and hear the children laughing. I see her in my little sister Aria" I feel a tear run down the side of my face, and then Arizona's hand wiping it away.

I give her a sad smile, then turn back to the crowd, "Thank you for your children."

I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me. There's a long pause.

"And no one knows" A male voice sings.

I find the man, a wizened old man in a faded red shirt and overalls.

Everybody starts singing, "That you and I, baby we see eye to eye."

At the end of the verse, every person in the crowd presses the three middle fingers of their left hand against their lips and extends them to me. It's what happened when Arizona volunteered.

If I hadn't spoken to President Snow, this gesture might move me to tears. But with his recent orders to calm the districts fresh in my ears, it fills me with dread. What will he think of this very public salute to the girl who defied the Capitol?

The full impact of what I've done hits me. It was not intentional, I only meant to express my thanks, but I have elicited something dangerous. An act of dissent from the people of District 11. This is exactly the kind of thing I am supposed to be defusing!

I try to think of something to say to undermine what has just happened, to negate it, but I can hear the slight burst of static indicating my microphone has been cut off and the mayor has taken over. Arizona and I acknowledge a final round of applause. She leads me back toward the doors, unaware that anything has gone wrong.

I feel funny and have to stop for a moment. Little bits of bright sunshine dance before my eyes.

"Are you okay" She asks, stopping and looking at me.

"Yeah, it's just really bright" I whisper as my eyes adjust.

She has a bouquet.

"I forgot my flowers" I mumble.

"I'll get them" She says, stepping towards where we just came from.

"I can" I argue.

We would be safe inside the Justice Building by now, if I hadn't stopped, if I hadn't left my flowers. Instead, from the deep shade of the verandah, we see the whole thing.

A pair of Peacekeepers dragging the old man who sang to the top of the steps. Forcing him to his knees before the crowd. And putting a bullet through his head.


End file.
